Stoner, that's what I had in mind, and am very well prepped for.
I even know who I'm going to cull from thecommunity for "the sake of the greater good".
(The charlatan priest and his corrrupt cronies. )
I don't like this predicament at all.

There's plenty of room for all God's creatures. Right next to the mashed potatoes!

He will spend eternity with the others - in the Devil's asshole,
as described in the Canterbury Tales :D

Hmmm...it's been a growing worry to me, that I really have
no experience with firearms. A bit of a regret nowadays, that
I chose to do my service as a civilian back when I was a young,
stupid idealist (guess I'm an old, stupid one now? Hehheh).

Mind you - not that the Finnish Army seems to practise anything but
crowd-and-riot control lately...

Anyway, I don't really know how to go about obtaining a gun (or
two) in any legal way. But it sure would be good to be able to
bite back...make sure that no-one gets near the lovely Ms A Stonette
and her daughter with bad intentions.
Make the survivors think twice about trying again.

Because the rest is cool - wood stove, open fireplace; got lots of fuel
for them too; not depending on electricity for survival.

But what good is an AK47 or a shotgun against slowly rising radiation
levels?

Nah, I don't like it either.

On the other hand, we survived Chernobyl (at least so far), and no-one
seems quite sure yet, how bad the Fuckushima thing is going to get...

Oh, the irony:
All those long years of Russki/U.S. atom bomb
"terror balance", and when nuke doom finally arrives
- it's from peacetime civilian use.

Muah...no, it's just not funny at all.

[sidenote]
And I do suspect my uncle, his wife and my Dad were
all Chernobyl victims.

The uncle died horribly in colon cancer - after 40+ years
of strict health-nut living. (He just wouldn't stop picking
and eating stuff like mushrooms, berries...firm believer in
natural foods as he was.)
His wife had a successful stoma operation for the same
condition. She totally shared her husband's lifestyle.

My Dad got cancer in the bladder...thank God it was a
benign, non-metastasing tumour.

Anyone supporting nuclear power should volunteer to store
spent fuel under their beds! Attitudes towards it sure seem to
follow fatness of wallet, so indoor space should not be a problem.
[/sidenote]

There were hundreds of millions of Kindles and Nooks frozen in death, stuck on one page â€“ â€œWhy America Slept.â€ You can say one thing about us, we were a species that scribbled, texted, hologrammed and burst a blood vessel of pixels in the final years. Every last atrocity was broadcast virally. By 2015, every consumer could make a major feature film with a gadget fitted to the hand. We could dial in our imaginary laughing audience for the sound track. If the revolution wasnâ€™t televised, the end of the world was. Millions of movies would be found on mounds of corpses, still flickering in fingers and suitcases. Of the five known mass extinctions in the history of the earth, this was the only one where the dying species seemed to know what it was doing.
It was not a pretty sight, as so much of homo sapiens went down. By 2020, there was a bitter suspicion that a privileged few would survive with secret technologies in the higher elevations. It was a planet racing with high budget rumors as it died. The bitterness was even directed at the coyotes and cockroaches that poured through the front-doors of suburban palaces as families packed their SUVâ€™s for the final drive. Yes, these millions of corpses had sour expressions on their faces â€“ and still the question floated among us. Why did America sleep? The United States of America was supposed to be the hero. â€œSaving the worldâ€ was the plot for most of the movies in theatres in those last years. In fact, at the end, most Americans still believed that their habitual heroism was in full force. But by then, we were stumbling back and forth between virtual and actual worlds. It was a struggle to the death by competing dreams.
America was sleeping deeply, in a dream whose creators were hiding inside skyscrapers with smoked glass. One wonders â€“ could we ever have looked critically at the heavily financed dream-state that became adopted as â€œnormal living.â€ Normal living became horrific apocalyptic screaming media, cosmetic heroism, and left-over fundamentalist religions. This media was often produced by self-identified liberal environmentalists, while off-screen the air and water was utterly poisoned, with tsunamis coming in like big, consciously directed erasers. If only we had found a way to examine the waking dream by riding into it on the back of a strong counter-dream, like some artists did back in the 20th centuryâ€¦
The American dream turned out to be deadly because it sold tickets to a long series of apocalypses â€“ they are the epitome of good (funny-scary) entertainment. Then, something went terribly wrong when dying spectacularly made good media â€“ a diverting nightmare shall we say â€“ but we could not go forward with ordinary living, where death has a natural place. The leaders of the dream, the captains of consumption and militarism â€“ culturally silenced those who thought that death was a natural part of living. The special effects of mass death continued, while individual death was pushed into endless assisted living, and Americans slept on and on. We took our imperial eternity for granted. We shopped and bombed to push back the emptiness. We swiped the plastic for yet another amazing funny apocalypse. And then one of them, in mid-joke â€”-

There were hundreds of millions of Kindles and Nooks frozen in death, stuck on one page â€“ â€œWhy America Slept.â€ You can say one thing about us, we were a species that scribbled, texted, hologrammed and burst a blood vessel of pixels in the final years. Every last atrocity was broadcast virally. By 2015, every consumer could make a major feature film with a gadget fitted to the hand. We could dial in our imaginary laughing audience for the sound track. If the revolution wasnâ€™t televised, the end of the world was. Millions of movies would be found on mounds of corpses, still flickering in fingers and suitcases. Of the five known mass extinctions in the history of the earth, this was the only one where the dying species seemed to know what it was doing.

It was not a pretty sight, as so much of homo sapiens went down. By 2020, there was a bitter suspicion that a privileged few would survive with secret technologies in the higher elevations. It was a planet racing with high budget rumors as it died. The bitterness was even directed at the coyotes and cockroaches that poured through the front-doors of suburban palaces as families packed their SUVâ€™s for the final drive. Yes, these millions of corpses had sour expressions on their faces â€“ and still the question floated among us. Why did America sleep? The United States of America was supposed to be the hero. â€œSaving the worldâ€ was the plot for most of the movies in theatres in those last years. In fact, at the end, most Americans still believed that their habitual heroism was in full force. But by then, we were stumbling back and forth between virtual and actual worlds. It was a struggle to the death by competing dreams.

America was sleeping deeply, in a dream whose creators were hiding inside skyscrapers with smoked glass. One wonders â€“ could we ever have looked critically at the heavily financed dream-state that became adopted as â€œnormal living.â€ Normal living became horrific apocalyptic screaming media, cosmetic heroism, and left-over fundamentalist religions. This media was often produced by self-identified liberal environmentalists, while off-screen the air and water was utterly poisoned, with tsunamis coming in like big, consciously directed erasers. If only we had found a way to examine the waking dream by riding into it on the back of a strong counter-dream, like some artists did back in the 20th centuryâ€¦

The American dream turned out to be deadly because it sold tickets to a long series of apocalypses â€“ they are the epitome of good (funny-scary) entertainment. Then, something went terribly wrong when dying spectacularly made good media â€“ a diverting nightmare shall we say â€“ but we could not go forward with ordinary living, where death has a natural place. The leaders of the dream, the captains of consumption and militarism â€“ culturally silenced those who thought that death was a natural part of living. The special effects of mass death continued, while individual death was pushed into endless assisted living, and Americans slept on and on. We took our imperial eternity for granted. We shopped and bombed to push back the emptiness. We swiped the plastic for yet another amazing funny apocalypse. And then one of them, in mid-joke â€”-

----------------------------------------------------------

A student of the writers Charles Gaines and Kurt Vonnegut, Reverend Billy Talen moved to New York City in 1994 and joined the sidewalk preachers of Times Square, specializing in exorcisms of sweatshop companies such as Disney and Wal-Mart, and opposing the gentrification of neighborhoods. He has been jailed countless times in his quest to stop the Shopocalypse.